You are a sentence with no punctuation.
A kaleidoscope full of colors that I don’t remember learning in elementary school.
Your voice, is the sound I’ve been looking for my entire life.
Your smile, is the only sunrise worth setting my alarm clock early enough to see.
If I could, I would shape shift into the first thing you think about in the morning
just so I could be reminded of what it’s like to wake up next to you.
I love you in a language that I don’t fully understand.
In words that I haven’t found enough courage to forklift out of my chest.
I hear that karma is vengeful and also a light sleeper, so I’ve chosen to love you like this.
So I’ll call your phone and hang up before it actually rings.
I’ll write you letters that you’ll never read.
And when I see you in public,
I’ll stick my hand inside of a bagful of things that I haven’t done since you left me and pull out a smile.
I’ll say something like, “Hello… It’s nice to see you”
And then I’ll keep walking.
We exchanged our least favorite words. Mine being ‘moist’ and yours 'almost.’ And when I asked you why, you said it was because almost held failed potential. That it represented our ability to be just not good enough. That we had come to the brink of something beautiful, but fell short so many times we crafted a word for it.